


Those that I guard I do not love...

by moonphase9



Series: Wartime Blues [1]
Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: And then it got worse, Angst, Canon Divergence, Developing Friendship, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies to Friends, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, War, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonphase9/pseuds/moonphase9
Summary: Something strange is happening. Jack and Ashley find themselves captive in their own country. Unable to leave, the pair try to live their lives without the fun and excitement of hunting for Shen-Gong-Wu. But soon war breaks out, forcing the two to become friends as they desperately try to survive.





	1. It's like they want us to die from boredom

**Author's Note:**

> Romance: None. Jack and Ashley if you squint/really want it.
> 
> Minor OCs.
> 
> This will be seven chapters in total.
> 
> I have no beta so feel free to point out any errors.
> 
> Warnings and disclaimer: This is about war so I've used politics and talked about countries. I've based this story in China (I always assumed Jack lived in China due to the design of his home). I do not think China is about to have a civil war or become a totalitarian state. I literally just needed to use the names of countries to further the plot. None of the countries in this story are good guys or bad guys. 

“Very few tyrants argued for the slavery of the masses. Instead, they argued for their right to protect the people from themselves.”   
―  **A.E. Samaan**

 

Jack stared out of the classroom window. It was open so the soft breeze from outside was able to blow sleepily against his face. It was so boring. Jack hated school with a passion, but in the last two months he had been forced to start going again. Why did the universe feel the need to punish him over and over again? Ok, sure he was evil but still...

He wondered about committing suicide by leaping out of the damned window but the classroom was only two floors up and he would probably just wind up horribly injured. Though, that _could_ be kind of cool. Jack’s eyes brightened as he imagined himself as a bitter paraplegic in a ghetto meets goth-cyber-punk wheelchair. It’d be awesome; like something out of Doctor Who or Repo the Genetic Opera.

Suddenly a board pen hit his head.

“Spicer, pay attention!” his teacher roared from the front of the class.

Jack rubbed his head incredulously. What was this, a Japanese manga? Why the hell did his teacher think it was ok to assault him? He looked down at the board pen. If this had have been a manga it would have been an innocent piece of chalk rather than-

“SPICER! I said-”

“ _What_?” Jack roared back at the teacher, forgetting himself due to the pain of the pen; his natural insolence overrode his usual cowardice. “I could sue you old man!”

“Go ahead,” sneered his embattled and weary math teacher, “I stopped giving a damn years ago. You know what Spicer? Carry on staring out the window pretending you’re a ‘somebody.’”

At that, Mr Cole turned around and carried on his explanation of Pythagoras’ Theorem.  Jack turned to grin at his classmates (“ _whoa, I totally yelled back a teacher and won! I didn’t get sent out or anything_!”) but it seemed none of them cared. They were just staring blankly at the front of the classroom like a bunch of mindless zombies.

 _Pfft_ , figures. Someone like Zhang Wei, the school knucklehead, does a fart and the whole class is in hysterics whereas Jack totally called out a teacher and no one even cared.

Life was so unfair.

Not to mention boring.

 

 

 

 “Ashley, hey Ashley!”

The blonde was leaning against the school wall as Jack came bounding over (nearly losing his footing at one point, but recovering well...or at least he thought so.)

“Don’t talk to me loser,” she drawled lazily. He put on his best cheesy grin and stood too close to her; Jack wasn’t good at respecting personal space. “Someone might see me talking to you. Get lost” She turned and flicked his nose. 

Jack yelped and grabbed it, tears welling up in his eyes. “Well I thought it was ok because you’re the only person standing here,” he responded in a morose tone. “Everyone else has gone home.”

“I’m waiting for Tyson.”

“Who?”

“My boyfriend!” she sighed and, taking out a mirror from her satchel, began to fiddle with her hair and make-up.

There was a momentary silence before, “It’s pretty boring now, huh?” Ashley looked up at the geeky goth, surprised by the deep seriousness of his voice. His face was sombre.

“Yeah, it is.” She sighed again, resigning herself to the conversation. “No Wu, no pass out of the country, no emails. Soon they’ll stop us being allowed to text.” She waved her phone at him. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s like they want us all to die of boredom.”

“They said they want to protect us,” answered Jack, thinking of the news report he had bothered to watch last night. He had never watched the news before (Jack had always believed that television should only show cartoons and porn. It was one of the laws he planned to enforce when he successfully took over the world) but even he was becoming curious as to what exactly was happening in his country as it had begun to affect his own life so much.

“Protect us from _what_?” Ashley complained. She sunk to the floor and Jack copied her.  “It’s disgusting, the government not telling us anything,” she continued feeling bitter about the whole situation, “it’s like we’re living in North Korea. My mom is joining the Rally next week.”

“What Rally?”

“ _Honestly_ Jack do you know anything other than how to build robotic cheerleaders? The Rally! People have been going on about it for months! A bunch of people are marching in protest against the Government locking us all up and that Mayor being killed after saying he was pro-emigration and immigration.”

“Oh.” He drew his legs up to his chest. He remembered hearing about the Mayor being killed. Some extremist had stabbed him to death whilst he’d been out meeting the locals. The killer was found to have mental health issues, but some were arguing that it was the political climate that had triggered his illness and the resulting violence.

It was true that the media’s rhetoric and the government’s new protectionist rules had been somewhat disconcerting recently. Around six months prior to this afternoon, the Government had begun to issue tougher laws on who could come into the country. It was done to stop foreign criminals coming in, as they said drugs and rape crimes were sky rocketing. Not to mention that the economy was suffering and that was something to do with immigration levels. Thing was, there were a lot of rules on who could leave as well. Border control was heightened to an intensity never seen before.

Internet communication sites such as Facebook and Twitter began to be monitored by Governmental Watchdogs before being forced down completely- apparently for the safety of the young who were being groomed by masses of online paedophiles and foreign terrorist organisations. However it was not long after the deletion of Facebook and Twitter that emails were targeted; they were restricted to only being sent to other people in the same country. But after a single month the whole system went down, thereby stopping emails all together.

The Government insisted it wasn’t them who had closed the email system but that the email companies had pulled themselves out of the country because they disagreed with the Government’s new sanctions on freedom of communication, but the civilians had been already suspicious and very angry by this point. The protest marches began after Wikipedia was closed down as well.

One night, around two months ago, Jack had come home, beaten and bruised after losing another showdown only to discover soldiers on every border of his country. They had confiscated the Jack-copter and told him he wasn’t even allowed to leave his little town anymore without the appropriate paperwork. It meant that not only could he no longer go abroad without permission, but he couldn’t even leave his _region_.

They argued that it was because high levels of emigration was damaging the country. A ‘brain drain’ was occurring where the best and brightest citizens were, after receiving an education, living and working abroad. China was increasingly becoming a nation of old people unable to work and no longer paying taxes as they were retired. And with no young immigrants coming in to take on the jobs they could no longer do or paying taxes they could no longer pay, the only solution was the keep citizens in the country.

Another problem was that getting the ‘appropriate paperwork’ was impossible. Unless you were a politician or a scientist, you just couldn’t leave the country. And even these officials still needed permission from the Prime Minister himself.

Jack had tried to complain to his father but had not been able to get through to him via the telephone, which was not so unusual in itself; Jack often went months without hearing a word from his father. His dad wasn’t exactly paternal. In fact, none of his family were very orientated towards one another. It was why he liked to cling to his mother. She was his constant, though a little vacant. And she made really awesome cookies.

Remembering her cookies, he took one out of his pocket and began happily munching on it.

Ashley curled her lip in disgust; the cookie was covered in pocket fluff and looked like it had been in there for a few days. Why the heck did she know this creep? Oh yeah, because their parents ran in the same social circles and because of the Shen Gong Wu. Talking of Wu, maybe they could escape their little town of boredom with the help of some oriental magic...

“Jack,” she purred, “Which Wu do you have left?”

“Just the monkey staff... What?” He protested at her rolling her eyes.

“Typical, you don’t keep anything fun.”

“What??” he shrieked. “How can you say that? The monkey staff is the very **epitome** of fun!”

“Stop yelling, you’re getting spit on me... and move further away from me! God, you’re such a _freak_.” She shuddered while Jack crossed his arms and fell into a temporary sulk. “I have the Shroud of Shadows,” she continued, “and the Shard of Lightning, but that’s it. They won’t be able to help us transport out of this sucky little country.” She kicked a rock out of spite.

“Why didn’t _you_ get more fun stuff?” He complained, still unhappy that she dared to say that his favourite Wu was boring.

“ _Because_ ,” Ashley suddenly stood up and screamed at Jack, making him fall to the side with an effeminate shriek, “I hardly went to the _stupid_ showdowns anyway due to actually having a life! I didn’t _know_ we were going to be stuck here! If I had known,” she settled down as suddenly as she had gotten riled up, “I would have gone to more battles and I would have gotten more Wu.” Sighing she sank back down to the floor. “Yes, Jack, it is boring.”

 

 

 

Jack walked home alone. He had asked Ashley to come along with him (“you can come to mine! Mom will bake some cookies and we can watch Gilmore Girls and you can see my plan of which countries I’m going to destroy first-”) but she had turned him down; turned him down with harsh words and much name calling. It was so unnecessary. He was only trying to be nice.

 _Cha_! girls, who needs them? MGTOW all the way!

As he entered the dark corridors of his home, instead of the expected silence, he heard loud music being played upstairs. He followed it warily. It was ‘Moonlight Sonata’ being played too quickly on the piano. Could it be..?

He opened one of the doors letting the light of the bedroom shine out into the shadowy corridors. Inside the bedroom everything was white; the walls, the carpeted floor, the bed sheets and bed frame and even the piano. A tall, dark haired girl sat playing on it. She was around seventeen and had green eyes that reminded him of Wuya. Her face looked angry and she pounded at the piano keys distorting the beautiful piece of music with her fury.

“Hi Joanna,” he said quietly, looking in wonder. How many years had it been since he had last seen her?

 She stopped playing and fixed a stern look in his direction. She didn’t return the greeting.  “Is the other one here?” he asked. She shrugged in response and flicked her hand at him in a gesture that said _‘go away.’_

He did as she asked and quietly closed the door behind him. The corrupted classical music resumed. He went back downstairs and into the kitchen. “Mom, did you know Joanna is back?”

Jack’s mom looked like a stereotypical Stepford Wife. She had fake blonde hair made up in heavy curls. He never had seen her without her make up on. She always wore heels, even though she hardly left the house and, unless hosting swanky party, tended to wear dresses reminiscent of the 1950’s. She turned to face him, an oven tray of freshly baked muffins in her hands.

“Hello darling,” she said without feeling. “How was school?” She always asked him this and he never answered. Most of the time he didn’t even bother going to school, he was too busy running away to different countries and battling over magical items. It was only thanks to the new Government laws that he was stuck in his own country and going to school every weekday.

“Mom,” he repeated, “ _Joanna_ is back. She’s upstairs in her old room. And I think she’s mad at Beethoven.”

“Would you like a muffin?” was her response. He grabbed one off the tray and shovelled it into his mouth. He then screamed as it burned his tongue. His mother began to arrange them on a plate in the middle of the table, her serene, conventional beauty contrasting to her alternative son’s ill-mannered spluttering behind her.

When he recovered himself, Jack ran out of the kitchen without thanking her for the muffin he had sprayed all over the floor and ran back upstairs to where Julie’s old room was. Standing outside of it the strong stink of marijuana hit his senses. _“Yep, she’s back!”_ He thought happily to himself.

Joanna, by what he remembered had always been a bit of an up-tight bitch, but Julie, the oldest of the Spicer siblings, was cool.

He banged on the door, “Julie I’m coming in!” he yelled, “so I hope you’re not naked or anything.” He shuddered and tore open the door. The smell of various illicit herbs hurt his nostrils. Jack saw his sister sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a candle. Above it she held a spoon with something bubbling inside. Ha, crazy Julie and her crazy drugs.

“Hey Jack,” she said in a strangled voice that screamed ‘drug addict.’ She didn’t look at Jack but kept her eyes on the contents of the spoon. He sat opposite her in the same fashion. A big grin showing off his yellowed teeth was plastered on his face. “Why are you back?” he queried. “And where have you been all this time? I haven’t seen you since I was like...ten or something.”

“Dad sent me to a correctional unit,” she responded without malice, her eyes still on her drugs. “I learnt a lot from the other inmates there.”

“Cool, so why are you back? Did you finish doing your time? I wish I was cool enough to go to prison. I’m pretty evil now you know,” he looked at her with bright eyes, hoping desperately for praise. She graced him with a small thin lipped smile. He ignored how artificial it was.

 “Well done,” she croaked. “But I wasn’t in prison exactly. Anyway, the Government told us that we had to come back. I don’t know why. But dad said to just do as they say.”

 “Did he say why they were doing all of this?” Jack watched her get out a syringe to use it to suck up the poisonous looking filth from the spoon. Julie shook her head, before slapping her skinny arms ready for injection.

“I-I don’t like needles,” Jack stammered, “see you dinner time, maybe.” He got up and left her room, all in all feeling pretty good. His family were back home.

But wait- did that mean his father would be home soon?

Jack felt the blood drain from his face as he walked downstairs into the basement- or his ‘lair’. Jack never bothered turning on the lights in his lair. Instead he simply switched on all the computers and cranked up his music. Sitting in his favourite spinning chair, he swung softly side to side pondering the afternoon; would he like it if his father came back home? Honestly he wasn’t sure, and Jack tended to be very black and white in his emotions. If he was happy he was joyous, if he was sad then he was in misery. Jack wasn’t a ‘middle ground’ person emotionally.

“Would you like some ice tea sir?”

“No,” he barked at the servant-bot, which lowered its head and zoomed away despondently. Jack didn’t notice. _“Oh well,”_ he thought to himself, _“there’s no point worrying about stuff I can’t do anything about.”_

 He unzipped his schoolbag and looked at all the homework inside. _Yawn_. As if he was going to do any of that. He was a boy genius, for heaven’s sake, he didn’t need any extracurricular work!

He clicked on to the internet. Nearly every site he went on was ‘no longer found’. God this was bad. What was he going to do all afternoon? The time he had ahead of him stretched ominously.  This was worse than being stuck in lessons all day.

 He had no parts left to build more robots as he couldn’t fly out to his usual stock supplier and he couldn’t order off-line, as even that site had been pulled down.

He brushed his hand though his greasy, slicked-back hair, “this is worse than I thought...maybe I should join Ashley’s mom on the March. What am I meant to do, read a book?” He cackled loudly for a few moments before accepting defeat and picking up a book he was meant to read for English literature _, The Things They Carried_ by some guy called Tim O’Brien.

 

 

On the same breezy day that Jack had lethargically not paid attention to class, his cousin Megan was in deep rural China. She had been up since five in the morning and, for the first time in her life, was handwashing her own clothes. It was the way the monks did things. And though it was hard, she couldn’t help but feel a small strange joy from it.

“This is what they mean by working hard and being independent,” she told herself whilst smiling softly, “I’m actually doing it. I know I can do this!”

For many years Megan had lived the same life as Cousin Jack or Ashley. Her family were very rich and Megan had a life of parties and excesses ahead of her. But unlike her cousin or even Ashley, Megan wasn’t a moron; she saw what they had become. The pair were pampered, over indulged, petty and spiteful. She told herself that she would never turn out like them. She avoided Ashley wherever possible and treated Jack with dripping disdain and snappy comebacks.

But then, one day a few months ago, things suddenly went south.

Megan went to a prestigious school that specialised in the arts. Unlike most high schools where everyone fights to fit in, here no one wanted to look the same. Rather, they all went out of their way to look as unique and as different as possible; everyone needed to be The One Who Stood Out; everyone wanted to be the weirdo; everyone was Lady Gaga.

In her excitable youth, Megan was not cynical enough to recognise the mass of attention seeking and instead thought her choice of school and friends (a group made up of a couple Goths, a trio of black-clad theatre students, a white rasta and a wiccan) were further evidence of how she chose the high road over Jack and Ashley. It meant that she had a diverse group of friends which in turn made her a woman of substance. It meant that where Ashley and Jack were close-minded and stupid, she could accept anyone for how they looked or acted.

But then the new girl arrived.

They had all cried with laughter when they had seen her. She was a scholarship student, (which in itself wasn’t too bad, if she had been wild, partially Hispanic and with a Bronx accent and a flair for dance) but she was as American as apple pie; she was sweet and short, two dimples on her freckled cheeks, she wore a pink cardigan (a _cardigan_ for God’s sake!), tidy mainstream pale jeans (complete with no rips, not even factory made ones) and white converse ( _converse_ , good lord, everyone and his uncle had those!) Her name was Chloe, and she was amazingly, _offensively_ ordinary. From the start she had been sickening and they had all known immediately that she was not one of them.

So Megan started off with treating this girl with the same disdain as she did with Jack.

They began to talk about her, even if she was right there, just loud enough for her to hear. They would sneakily look her way to see her blush as she recognised they were bitching about her.  It was her own fault they were mean to her, she looked ridiculous in her mainstream clothes and with her stupid curly hair, why didn’t she bob it or design it in a way to be less annoyingly dull? Why didn’t she dress in a way to show off her uniqueness, the way they all did? Why was she so arrogantly different?

Inevitably, bitching turned to gossip which turned to rumour. Anytime something strange happened, the new girl Chloe must have done it. She was too quiet, she never interacted with anyone, she wouldn’t get up and do a main part in a play or stand up and sing centre piece, why was she even in this school if she couldn’t even be _bothered_ to try? What a waste of time she was!

Chloe would refuse every guy who asked her out. True, they had only asked her out as a joke, but why didn’t she ever say ‘yes’? She clearly thought she was too good for the rest of them! Chloe was a typical little prep, she looked down on those who were different and disengaged from the rest of them.

It was her fault a teacher left. It was her fault that a play got cancelled. It was her fault they didn’t sell enough tickets for one of the school’s concerts; it was her fault when a school trip went wrong and the school bus crashed and they all needed to go home; it was her fault that school heart throb Nikolai lost his clothes in a river and it was Chloe’s fault that Megan did not get chosen for a lead part in an up-coming pay.

Megan did not know why or how exactly Chloe was to blame, but she was.

So with silly rumours and unsupported gossip, disdain turned to hate.

Chloe the Prep was hated.

 

 

 

Megan blinked, waking herself out of her memories. There was no point remembering Chloe now, what’s done is done and all that.

 _“Besides,”_ she thought, _“I’m out here now. I’m far away from it all. I can become someone I like again.”_

She was starting a fresh in China. After the whole unpleasantness at school and the unfortunate outcome, Megan had remembered the monks. She had remembered how witty they had been, how athletic and strong. She realised that they were her ideal, so what better way to improve on herself and to attempt some sort of redemption, than by starving herself of her old life and starting a new, more basic one?

It had taken two weeks of constantly begging and whining to her parents before they let her go. Her mother only agreed when she found out her daughter would not have to shave off all her hair from her head, and her father only agreed because his wife had finally settled down about it.

Megan couldn’t help feeling a little bit of vindictive pleasure that Jack would be miserable and jealous. He always wanted to either beat or join the Monks; he always wanted to be accepted and befriended but was never prepared to go through the hard work of actually being a good and selfless friend.

A determined frown settled on her face. “ _Well I’m not like that,”_ she thought, scrubbing at a stain on her shirt, _“no one really thinks I can do this. Mom and dad expect me home in a few months. Well I won’t. I’m going to be a real Xiaolin monk. I just have to get through all these lame jobs, and then maybe they’ll let me join properly.”_

The monks themselves had been happy to take on Megan. She wouldn’t have an element like they did, as she wasn’t a Chosen One, but she did have the right mind set and strength of will to make a good and loyal team member. They had agreed with Master Fung to allow her to live and train with them. Megan was considered by them an ally, and too many of their side had fallen into the clutches of evil, such as Jermaine and Raimundo. The fact that every Xiaolin Warrior had turned back from their folly was luck, Chase Young was evidence that such a desirable outcome was not always going to occur. So, unlike Jermaine who had been left to his own devices, they were happy to essentially adopt Megan once parental permission was provided.

It had also been a huge relief for Kimiko, she had another female living with her at last (the only female company she had all this time was her friend back in Tokyo) and Megan was young enough to play the cute little sister role rather than be competition in looks or feisty-ness.

“Hello Megan,” said a cheerful voice too close to her left ear.

She shrieked and leapt away from a broadly smiling Omi.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” said the boy, his expression not changing, “oh-ho-ho, you are not washing these clothes correctly!”

She smirked, blue eyes narrowing in a manner that was almost evil, “do you want to show me how to do them properly Omi? I trust you will lead me in the right path!”

Omi grinned at the thought that someone, at last, could take some constructive criticism and recognised his superior skills at doing everything.

 “It would be an honour!” he cried, “now you should sit more like this, then you take one piece of the outfit, like so, and...wait... YOU HAVE TRICKED ME INTO DOING YOUR DIRTY WASHING FOR YOU!!” He jumped up screaming and pointed a theatrical finger, but Megan had already vanished.

 He sat back down reluctantly and continued scrubbing at her things, “she will make a good ninja,” he admitted grudgingly, before shrieking once more when he realised he was scrubbing a pair of her stripy knickers.

Megan walked over to Raimundo who was busily playing another video game about zombies. A couple of feet away Kimiko was texting someone back in Japan. Distant rumbling and feeling of the ground shaking slightly made her assume that Clay was busy training his Earth skills on the other side of the temple.

“Is it always this boring?” she asked

“No,” chimed the two monks in unison.

“Trust me, this is very rare, enjoy it while you can,” Kimiko sighed and began to dial her mobile. Megan went to sit by Raimundo, as Kimiko would, no doubt, be chatting away to her best friend in Tokyo within the next few minutes.

“To be honest,” muttered Raimundo, his eyes still on the game, “slow days are becoming less rare as time goes on. Hardly any Wu have awoken, and when they do, it’s usually only us after them.  Aside from the witch Wuya, the Big Bad’s were never that into the Wu as they have mojo of their own, and Wuya is shacked up with Chase, so she’s fine, and Spicer and Katnappe never turn up anymore. Maybe they got bored of getting beat all the time.”

There was a moment’s silence before, “Rai, could I borrow phone and contact my parents later?”

He looked up at her, “sure. You haven’t spoken to them since you arrived.” He sat up, “you shouldn’t freeze them out you know. It isn’t good, family need to stick together.”

“Yeah I guess but...” she thought of how she left home, and why she left home, before shrugging and getting to her feet, “actually, forget it, I don’t want to talk to anyone back home. I’m going to go find Clay, see you later.”

Just then Dojo stumbled out of the temple, his scales glowing a bright red. “Heads up everybody!” he cried, scratching himself, “a new Wu has woken up!”

“Looks like you got yourself some action Megan!” grinned Rai, earning a grin in return.

 _‘At last!’_ Megan internally cheered, running to get a Wu for herself and then preparing to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

“It's not a bad idea to occasionally spend a little time thinking about things you take for granted. Plain everyday things.” -Evan Davis

xxXXxx

That night, his duvet half kicked off his body, clinging to a teddy bear and drooling a little, Jack dreamt of the last day of freedom he had.

A little over two months ago he had flown over to China and fought the Monks over a new Wu that could control the weather. He needed it because he wanted to get a wicked tan and so could do with an early summer. He had decided that morning that Goth was a lame; Jack wanted to go down the Chase Young route and look more ‘Dark Samurai.’

Jack remembered the landscape as he had travelled. China was a land of extreme beauty and culture. Jack was not romantic or poetic, he did not understand beauty but he could appreciate it. He was so taken in by the sights he had turned off his music and actually enjoyed the serene peace of Chinese countryside. It was the same every time he flew over it. He just never got used to it because the ethereal beauty could never become mundane.

However things went wrong when the competition with the monks actually started. As usual there ended up being a showdown, only this time, it actually involved him versus Omi. He was winning too, another rarity, but then his stupid pipsqueak cousin Megan appeared. Turns out that she had snuck along, hidden in the cockpit of his Jack-Copter. The little turncoat helped out the warriors and Jack lost. They all cheered and she asked to join them.

When they accepted her and walked away into the proverbial sunset, Omi holding her hand, Jack felt the bile rise in his throat. They all flew away on their grand dragon, proud warrior monks, while he stood, dirty, bloodied, betrayed and alone on the dirt below them. He felt betrayed not only by Megan but also by them. He grit his teeth and betted to himself that they wouldn’t treat her the way they treated him when tried to be a monk; he bet they wouldn’t make her do all the worst jobs! No, they’d be nice to her, to make it easy for her to join. To be fair, she had always been nice to them and considered herself to be on the Xiaolin side, so they had no reason to be unkind to her, but still...

Jack opened his eyes. The alarm clock next to his bed screamed out obnoxiously. It was seven am. He hated the alarm and slammed it off. He hated getting up. Before he got up whenever he felt like it, but since the Government decided to go all totalitarian he found he had to go to school which meant he had to get up in the mornings.

It sucked.

“FML,” he muttered whilst getting up and rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. The weather looked pleasant outside, it was sunny and cheery. Jack scowled. It would be autumn soon, and the weather would darken, which would cheer him up because he had decided that he hated the sun. It didn’t reflect his mood and he had found since his last session with the monks that he couldn’t tan _anyway_ , he just burned horribly anytime the sunlight so much as brushed against his skin. It just wasn’t fair, he was naturally dark haired and weren’t dark haired people meant to be able to tan better than fair-haired people?

He climbed out of bed, wearing a pair of deep blue pyjamas on, smiling suns emblazoned on them. The suns reminded him of that smug face Omi always seemed to wear, which made him angry every time he looked at them, but Jack felt that if he got rid of his pyjama’s that Omi would have won somehow.

Truth be told, Jack felt angry quite a lot of the time now, which was pretty unusual. For an evil mastermind he was a pretty cheerful guy, not like moody Chase or psycho Hannibal.

“I should go play with the monkey staff for a bit,” he grinned to himself, “to cheer myself up.” He opened his bedroom door and a delicious smell seduced his senses. “Pancakes!!” he roared and raced downstairs into the kitchen.

It was strange on entering due to the amount of people in the kitchen. His vacant mother was joined by Joanne, who was sitting at the table, wearing her impeccable school uniform and looking like she had been up for hours and opposite her was Judy, who was slouched over the table and looking hungover.

He smiled and sat next to Judy. No one mentioned his presence but Jack felt curiously happy all the same. It was almost like...a normal family.

Maybe the sunshine wasn’t so bad after all. Plus he could always get a spray tan.

“Jack,” his mother placed a plate of pancakes laced with syrup in front of him. Joanna, with her bowl of chopped fruit, looked disapproving. Judy had only a drink beside her, and it looked suspiciously like a Bloody Mary. “You need to eat that quickly then go upstairs,” his mother continued, “father is waiting. He wants to talk to you.” She walked away back to her station at the kitchen sink. Jack felt the stupid grin he had been wearing slid away.

So father _was_ back.

He ate as slowly as possible before slinking upstairs to where his dad’s room was. Jack’s parents had separate bedrooms. He knocked on the door and walked inside after being invited. Jack was very polite around his father.

He looked around the room; clear white walls, black carpet, a single bed and chest of drawers, one white wardrobe and a computer. The computer was on. It was always on. As usual Jack’s father was sat in front of it, focused completely on the screen, his face void of expression.

“What have you been up to Jack?”

“Oh you know,” Jack cried far too loudly and with a false cheer, “the usual! Going around the world...doing stuff and stuff, hahahahaha!” His fake laughter petered off as his father sat as still and silently disapproving as ever.

“I can see you haven’t matured,” the man sighed after a long, uncomfortable silence. “What did you think of my puzzle box?”

“What puzzle box?”

“The one I sent you,” his father’s voice was becoming terse and Jack immediately straightened and began to breathe a little faster. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, “Oh right yeah, of course. I solved it straight away dad!”

“Good...”

“And...and there was something inside it...” Jack temporarily faltered as his father actually swivelled his eyes towards him. Father rarely looked at Jack. “There was a ghost of an old witch,” he answered truthfully before wilting a little. His father would think he was a total lunatic for saying such a-

“Excellent, Jack.” The boy genius blinked and looked up in shock. “So is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” His father continued, “and why you have been _especially_ expensive this year, because you were travelling around the world with the... _ghost_?”

The boy nodded slightly, feeling a little ill and as if he had been set up somehow.

“Where is the ghost now?” his father pushed, actually turning away from the screen and looking directly at Jack; the boy flinched and focused his own gaze at the ground. “Where is she? And what things have you collected for her?”

“She flew away from me.” Jack gulped. “She took all the things with her. All of them.”

His face burned, partially from shame and partially because he knew he still had the Monkey Staff. Jack was terrified of actually lying to his father; he hadn’t even thought about why he had done it. All he knew was that he didn’t want Father getting his hands on the monkey staff or any other Shen-Gong-Wu.

Father’s eyes were cold and shallow. “Pathetic as always,” said the didactic voice. Jack’s shoulders rose as his head lowered, almost like he was a turtle trying to hide in its shell; it was worse than getting yelled at, because by talking in such a flat, robotic voice it was made apparent that his father wasn’t berating him out of anger, but simply telling the cold truth. Father turned back to the computer, having lost any fleeting interest he had in his child.

“I never should have trusted you Jack, but I thought that even you couldn’t screw up so easy a task. I am, as always, disappointed and ashamed.”

Jack scuttled out and shut the door quietly before bolting to his lair. As he put his Wu into his schoolbag he had to wipe away a few hot tears.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real.

“The explosions were almost simultaneous. (…) It was awful. There was just blood. It was like the apocalypse.”

\- Samir Derrouich on the terror attacks in Brussels.

xxXXxx

Jack boarded the bus. He hated public transport, it was smelly and gross and too hot, but father had banned him from using his car. He had never said to Jack that he was banned; Jack simply went into his garage to find the wheels had been clamped. That was it. No verbal warning or anything. But that was Jack’s dad; secretive, passive aggressive and mean spirited.

 _“I must have inherited all my evil from him,”_ thought the teen. Such a thought gave him no pleasure. Evil seemed less cool when it was so...mundane.

Still, Jack had been determined to go into the city centre that day. There was a carnival on, and considering that nothing of interest had happened for months, he was very excited. The bus was full of people, so much so that he had to stand. He sighed melodramatically to himself over his plight and tried to ignore the pervading stench of body odour and too much perfume.

City Centre wasn’t much better. The city was absolutely bustling with huge crowds of people, especially teenagers. Normally the Carnival was a bit of a boring affair which maybe a few families or tourists drifted over to. This year was huge.  The music of the carnival was too loud, though the bright colours strewn across the lampposts and city signs were pretty cool. The people of his city had really gone to town this year, no doubt due to boredom and the city council trying to raise the disgruntled spirits of its citizens. All around him he could hear shrieking whistles and the ever annoying buzz of the vuvuzela.

Jack went into one of the more popular shopping malls only to see Ashley walking and laughing with a bunch of guys from the football team. They were all grinning at her, and one had his arm wrapped around her waist.

 _“That must be her boyfriend,”_ he decided. Jack had always wanted to get in with the likes of Chase and Wuya, but being trapped in his small town of little consequence, there was no chance of such ambitious friendships now. Maybe he needed to try being friends with the popular kids again? After all, he knew Ashley now, so what was the harm of trying? He just needed to be cool...

“ASHLEY!” he screamed, his voice breaking partway through, whilst waving his arms around and running towards her; she looked at him with wide eyes and paled. “Hey Ashley how’s it going?” He breathed upon reaching her

The gaggle of teens stared at him in disgust but he ignored them and carried on, “how have you been Ashley? So shopping eh? Are you going to see the carnival as well? It starts in about ten minutes, wanna go down now?”

“Jack,” Ashley finally was able to speak.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing? Why are you talking to me?” She looked at her friends and grinned maliciously before facing him again, “let me guess, you think that because we just so happened to get involved with those monks that we’re friends?” She and her friends burst out laughing and walked away.

Jack scowled, “if you had teamed up with me you totally would have won more Wu!” he screamed. She turned back just to give him the finger before continuing her strut away from him. Her boyfriend wrapped his beefy arm tighter around her waist.

“Pfft, like I even care,” he muttered out loud, not caring that it earned him a few odd looks from people passing by, “I’ll get her back someday...then she’ll be sorry...”

Out of mall, on the busy streets of the city centre Jack stood all alone in a busy crowd watching the spectacle of various costumes and floats passing him. He didn’t feel very happy. Ashley and her stupid friends had ruined it for him. Jack wasn’t a deep thinker. He didn’t muse on his situation very often and he never reflected on his own behaviour to work out why he was so alone. But every now and then, such as the moment he stood watching all the happiness, he did have a moment of clarity.

 He was all alone in the world.

His family were as distant to him as his school colleagues. He was all alone and his deepest fear was that he would _forever_ be alone. Jack forced his way into people’s consciousness. He made people know and remember him. But now Wuya and Chase were gone, as were all the monks. His cousin had disappeared and she was the only family member that interacted with him in a normal manner. He was all alone. And honestly, he couldn’t see his situation changing. Would he die alone, stuck in this tiny little town? Would anyone remember him?

“I bet the monks and the Heylin have forgotten me already,” he whispered, dread clinging to him.

A few people around him began to complain about the floor. It was shaking. He frowned and pulled himself out of his thoughts. There did seem to be a vibration in the earth, almost as if a large explosion had happened far off and they were receiving the aftershocks. Water dripped onto his head. It was beginning to rain softly. He looked up into the sky just in time to see a fighter jet zoom past. He squinted. It hadn’t looked like any that belonged to their country...

Suddenly a sharp military aircraft loomed over them, though most people were too focused on the parade to even notice. Jack frowned. He couldn’t tell if it was a fighter or a standard bomber, but it _definitely_ didn’t look like one of theirs. He strained his eyes, trying to work out what country it came from when it suddenly dropped something above one of the tall shopping malls.

Time slowed down.

Jack felt the blood drain from his face and could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

He was aware that the people in the crowded streets around him were going about their lives as normal, not recognising the aircraft, or noticing it had dropped something.

In slow motion he pointed towards where the item was falling and opened his mouth to shout...something. 

Time came back to its normal pace as he heard a single scream before-

**BOOM!**

The explosion temporarily robbed Jack of all his senses as he was flung backwards and to the ground. People were falling on top of and over him.

For a moment he just lay there, he couldn’t hear or see anything. All was black but there was a strange ringing in his ears and his brain was in agony.

Slowly, sound began to make itself clear and watery images began to appear just before he felt people beginning to run on top of him their heavy body weight causing more agony to his body.

Desperately he clamoured to his feet, knowing he would be crushed by thousands of panicked carnival fans who were now beginning to run. He was in the crowd now, running. Around him was the stench of bodies and the heat they cast off. He could now hear that people were screaming and running in all directions. Huge chunks of concrete were being thrown to the ground, crushing people. Car alarms were screaming and there was the burning of tires as people tried to drive away from the destruction but only managed to crash into falling buildings after running over some fellow countrymen.

Fires had started, Jack could hear the crackling flames and thick smoke was preventing his vision, prickling his eyes and making them weep. A furious heat began to burn his body but he was unable to scream because his teeth were clenched firmly together.

Jack couldn’t even comprehend what was happening; his body was on automatic; all he knew was that he had to survive. It was instinct.

**BOOM!**

Another explosion, further away this time and increased screaming.

The ground shook heavily, throwing Jack to the ground once more. This time he got up before anyone could begin to run over him, even as he ran he could feel bodies underneath him, they were soft and warm. He could also feel the soft sticky splashing of blood. He gagged. No doubt people were being crushed to death under his feet.

The crowd were running towards an underpass, but Jack regained his thoughts long enough to begin pulling away from the human tide; going into the underpass would be a huge error. “No!” his brain, now in caveman-survival mode, began to shout, “No!” He pulled away from the crowd, pushing against the stream as he turned back and began to drag himself through the people. He didn’t want to go into the underpass.

Sure enough huge cracks began to appear in the road and the ground began to cave in. He could hear people screaming below, above the underpass a car and several people fell down with the tarmac road into the subway. The was the sounds of horrified screams and the crowd who had been fighting against him now began to move his way.

He needed to get away from them.

Now at the edge of the crowd, he was able to dash out of the main road and into a small alleyway.

Gasping, he finally stopped running and slunk to the ground, shaking all over. He realised that he was covered in dirt and blood, his skin felt like it was burning and his hair was singed. Through the intense adrenaline rush he could feel his body was in agony. He heard more planes flying quickly overhead, shooting through the skies like deadly metal eagles. He shuddered and began to crawl on the ground soft whimpers inadvertently coming from him.

 _“I can’t stay by the buildings,”_ he thought _, “because they might crash and fall, but I’m in danger if I go out into the open spaces with the crowds.”_

He let out a high-pitched scream and covered his ears as the loud sound of a machine gun ploughing into the panicked crowds. He could hear the wrecked bodies of people falling to the ground. That meant that whoever was bombing them was now also on the ground and they were shooting people.

 He lay on the floor in the shadows and continued to whimper quietly. He sounded like an injured puppy and desperately wanted to stop but found he couldn’t. This could not be real. It could not be real. This sort of thing didn’t happen in his country! It happened in places like the Middle East and poor African states, not here, not where the rich and normal and comfortable were! And who would do this to them, and why? What had his country done to deserve this?

There was another explosion, so close that it yet again temporarily robbed Jack of his hearing and littered him with debris. He could feel his skin burning up again. Coughing, he forced himself to sit up and he began to creep back through the alley way to crawl into a dumpster. It was hot and smelly, the heat of the explosions warming up the metal dumpster and making the conditions in there unbearable. But it was the dumpster or death, so Jack stayed put, flinching every time he heard and felt an explosion, or the rat-a-tat of machine gunfire. Bricks and mortar from the crumbling buildings rained down on the dumpster, but even as it rocked from side to side from the force of the projectiles, the hard metal shell protected him.

The sounds of people screaming began to fade. He occasionally heard people running past outside his dumpster, but no one looked inside. Time became an unknowable force; it could have been minutes or hours. He would also never be sure if he was awake and alert the whole time or if he had passed out in intervals.

As it became more silent, he began to hear the rain, now pouring heavily, beating against the metal lid.

 _“How long has it been raining?”_ He wondered, _“maybe the rain has helped put out the fires. I’m not too hot anymore.”_

But his skin was still burning.

When it was quiet enough, and Jack felt brave enough to move, he opened the lid and peeked out of the dumpster. The sky was pregnant with angry dark rain clouds. The city was glowing red and amber from the fires which had not abated even with the rain. He could smell something burning. It was a horrible scent and made him want to gag. Without ever having smelt it before, he instinctively knew what it was.

People, other human beings, were burning out there.

Gingerly he climbed out and began to walk. Part of him wanted to go back into the dumpster and hide, but he wanted to get home already, he wanted the nightmare to be over. His legs were screaming in pain, his body still shuddering from shock and the after effects of fading adrenaline, but he persevered.

Into the main street, the fires reflected in the puddles of acidic rain water merged with blood.

The land stunk.

He could see shadows of people shuffling around like zombies, like him they were keeping to themselves in the shadows.

He looked up into the sky but he couldn’t see anything.

He wondered if it had just been an attack or if the country was being taken over by enemy forces. Had his country even been in a war with another? He certainly hadn’t noticed if they were.

Painfully he began walking, uncertain if he was going in the right direction. Nothing was familiar anymore as it had all been blown apart, but he just wanted to keep moving. He doubted there would be a rescue from his family. His muscles were stuff and sore and as his skin was screaming with burns, the cold of the rain seeped into his bones.

 


	4. Chapter 4

‘This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.’ - Rorschach from _Watchmen_

Ashley and her boyfriend (she couldn’t remember his name, Tyson, Tyrone? whatever, he had a sweet car) had been in the said automobile and just heading out of town when the first bomb dropped.

The entire car had been flung forward, smashing into those in front, and being smashed into by those which had also been thrown behind. Ashley had screamed before darkness engulfed her.

Now she was waking.

Her head was spinning and she felt like her skin was burning up.

Every part of her body was in pain, abused after being flung around so suddenly and violently.

She groaned miserably. She was still strapped into the car seat, though she was now upside down and her face and upper body were pressed against the filthy tarmac of the road. It was raining heavily, so heavily that the water was covering her mouth. She coughed roughly and took in a deep breath which served to make her chest ache. She probably had broken ribs and a punctured lung. It felt like she had.

 She tried to look over to Tyson or Tyrone or whatever but she couldn’t move her head, so instead she began to fiddle with her seat belt, finally releasing herself and dropping painfully to the ground.

She then dragged herself out of the over turned convertible.

She stared at amazement at the area around her; she didn’t even recognise it, everything was smashed, broken down and burning. Bodies littered the ground. She shuddered and turned to go back under the car for Tyson/Tyrone.  Ashley had to hold in a scream before rushing away from the car by scrambling back on her butt.

Tyson/Tyrone was dead. Most definitely dead. His head had been smashed to pieces on impact with the ground.

Ashley sat shivering for a while, the rain was very cold, it was dark, and she was more than aware that she was surrounded by the dead. It was through sheer luck that she was not one of them. She would have run screaming, but she was too shocked by the events and her body felt too sore.

In the distance she could hear the wails of sirens but with the amount of destruction on the streets it would be pretty difficult for any emergency vehicles to get into the city centre.

After a while she began to check herself over, she was covered in blood and cuts and swelling bruises. Her chest hurt more than anything else and her neck very stiff and sore.

It could have been a lot worse.

Touching her skin and hair she realised that she seemed to be heavily singed, as if fire had grazed over her body. But then that’s what the explosion had felt like; like a flame of destruction and pain had for a short but terrible time, engulfed her completely.

Ashley got to her feet. She couldn’t stay here all night, quietly crying and feeling ill, she had to move, she had to get home.

Slowly she began to walk in what roughly looked like the direction that left the city centre. She stayed on the road, weaving in and out of destroyed and over turned cars and avoiding the fires.

Suddenly she heard a muffled screaming. She looked and saw a tiny fist beating against the window of one of the upturned cars. Inside there was a weeping child inside.  On all the windows of the cars were red spatters and gore. Fear struck her heart as she imagined being a child trapped in a car of dead relatives. Looking around she found a brick and carefully as possible she smashed in the car window bit by bit until there was a hole large enough to drag out the child.

She drew the girl into a hug without thinking.

Ashley did not like kids, especially ones crying and covered in boogers but at this moment she held the child close to her, ignoring the pain in her chest. The rest of the family were dead. How long had the girl been in there?

Slowly she set the girl down and they both began to walk, the girl gripping her hand tightly, sobbing and wailing the entire time.

Idly Ashley wondered what happened to the others; were the rest of the gang ok? The football team had carried on shopping in the mall, all wanting to get a burger and fries. Ashley had bullied Tyson/Tyrone into taking her home early. She had been humiliated by Jack and his stupid antics.

And what of Jack, was he ok?

Suddenly and inexplicably she found herself regretting a lot of things. She regretted being mean to Jack, she regretted not remembering Tyson/Tyrone’s name, she regretted going into town that day just so she could show off her boyfriend and buy a new bracelet.

She looked down at her bracelet. She had wanted one for months. It was white gold and the newest edition to the Pandora range.

She felt her eyes well up with tears. It seemed so stupid now.

The child next to her was not wailing now, but she was groaning, like an injured animal.

“Are you in pain?” asked Ashley, feeling the words were stupid as soon as they left her mouth. The child just continued making the low groaning sounds. “What is your name?”

The little girl shook her head, her eyes closed.

Somehow, even then, Ashley realised that the little girl would never remember her name, this experience being so traumatic it not only blotted out her life before it (which would have been too painful to remember considering how it was destroyed) but also would control her actions in the future.

Ashley wanted to carry the little girl, but knew that she wouldn’t be able to. Her back was in a lot of pain, shooting through her shoulders and peeking on her spine and lungs.

Just breathing was difficult.

She coughed, a few specks of blood coming out and covering her mouth.

Her sense of smell was slowly returning and she wished it wasn’t. She could smell the dead everywhere, their charred and broken bodies now soaking up the filthy rain water. In her mouth she could taste her own blood.

Slowly, her vision was dimming.

“This isn’t good,” she thought, just before she saw a few lights up ahead. She frowned in determination, “I just need to get to the lights...maybe its help.”

Luckily for her and the little girl, it was. Being on the edge of town, it hadn’t taken too long for her to get just outside of the crowded areas to where all the ambulances were parked.

As soon as she saw the sirens flashing and the rescue workers heading out into the debris and helping people, she collapsed, making the small girl she had been walking with scream in horror once more.

xxXXxx

At the time Ashley had been saved, Jack was still making his way home. A number of ambulances and fire trucks and police cars had driven past him, but he hadn’t hailed any of them for help. He just couldn’t. It was as if his mind had turned off. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.

Part of him was dimly aware that a small piece of him would forever be in the city centre, in that day, in paralysed fear of the bombings.

He would never get over this. No ambulance or fire person or police officer could help him. He felt dead.

Robotically, though his body was screaming from his injuries, he made it all the way home. He had walked miles. All whilst injured. His body screamed.

It was early morning when he got to his own house. The suburb he lived in was untouched by the bombs. The trees were the same, the garden, the cars, the other houses, all in traditional oriental design, everything was the same. There was no bad smell, no trauma, no bodies, no fires. Just the calm, mundane world he knew and understood.

The normalcy was absurd to the point of insulting.

The sky was turning a light blue, signifying that the day was going to be rather dull.

He watched as a small brown sparrow flew up into the air and disappeared into the grey-blue heaven.

Jack cried a little. Not loudly, or dramatically, which would have been more within his character, but just a few tears fell from his eyes. His chest and shoulders shuddered with the weeping, his body still stunned and terrified.

He wished he could pretend that it wasn’t real, that he had imagined it all, but he couldn’t.

Slowly, he made his way to the front door and opened it, stepping inside.

He could hear his mom in the kitchen, already up and cooking.

He walked towards her and waited in the doorway.

She turned and saw him. “Hello,” she said tonelessly, not questioning where he had been or what he looked like, “breakfast is nearly ready.”

Jack slowly lowered himself to the ground, still crying. He paid no attention when his sisters who found him and dragged him to his room to put him to bed. He was limp and sore and broken, and honestly did not believe he would ever get better.


	5. Chapter 5

Would you knock a man down,

If you don't like the cut of his clothes?

Could you put a man away,

If you don't want to hear what he knows?

Well, it's happening right here,

People dying of fear by the droves

-Stephen Sills, ‘Word Game’

 

Jack was in the shower, watching the red water going down the drain. It was Monday morning and he was expected to return to school. He had spent the entire weekend in bed. He felt unlike himself. He had hardly spoken, hardly made any noise at all. It was as if he had become too afraid to make a sound, worried that it would bring the men with guns to his home; afraid he’d hear the gunfire, that he’d feel the shake of the ground, that he’d feel the burn of an explosion. The doctor had been called out but had informed the family that Jack had gotten off very lightly. He supposed that was meant to make him feel better, but it didn’t.

During his time in bed, his sister Joanna had entered and told him some of what the news had been saying. Thousands had died. “We’ve been betrayed,” she had said emotionlessly, brushing a pale hand through long red hair as she sat at the end of his bed, “the east and the west have divided. The East have attacked us. They were helped by America. They’re saying we are evil.”

“But what did we do?” Jack whispered, “so many people died horribly.”

She shrugged, “we want freedom from the Government. Daddy says that our side saw it as making ourselves new and free, but the other side see it as us rebelling and forming a dictatorship.”

Jack shuddered. He didn’t understand politics. For the first time, he dearly wished he had paid more attention to school.

“Daddy says you need to change your appearance,” she said, “you need to take out your hair dye. It will look better if you become more conservative and less western.”

“Mom is a westerner,” he insisted, “and she’s dyes her hair blonde. And mom, you and Judy all have naturally red hair. Why should I have to be the odd one out?”

“You look like daddy.”

Jack remained quiet. Joanna was fiercely loyal to father. He did not want to tell her that he did everything in his power to not look like their father. He’d always been jealous that his sisters had taken after their exotic Russian mother, but he looked Chinese like his dad. He looked boring and conservative where they looked wild and different.

 Joanna stood. “You are to wash out the dye and remove your facial markings. Judy and I shall dye our hair black. It’s better that we fit in. Daddy wants you in school Monday. He says he did not raise his only son to be a layabout.”

Now, he stepped out of the shower and looked at himself in the steamed mirror. He had pale skin, black hair and a gawky expression. His skin was paler than most Asians, but that was because he was bi-racial. His sisters were the same. His geeky, unattractive features were now emphasised by how bland and ordinary he was. _“I look so boring now.”_ He thought. He remembered what Ashley had said about them living in North Korea. He felt as if they were. He looked like everyone else now.

Jack hated it.

Downstairs the entire family were eating a traditional Chinese breakfast. It was ridiculous. Deciding he wanted no part in their charade, Jack walked straight out and began heading to school. Normally he would drive his car, but father had removed the wheels so that was no longer an option. Plus, he had to start obeying the rules of the land now.

Normally the streets were filled with students all wearing the same uniform as himself. But this morning there were very few. Those who were out were walking like zombies, slowly and painfully. He was one of them. Despite what the doctor said he felt very, very sore. Most of his body was bruised and grazed and bandaged in some way.  He would be taking pain medication for at least a month. He was sure that more rest time had been needed, but Father would never allow for that.

Inside the classroom half the students were missing. Jack went to an international school, so a lot of the kids were English-speaking. But today most of the foreign children were gone. He wondered if they were too afraid to leave their homes. Surely people would be feeling resentful and angry towards foreigners? He decided that perhaps father’s plan for them all to fit in more wasn’t such a stupid idea.

He leaned his hand against his cheek before yelping. A large bandage covered it. But looking around the near empty room he couldn’t help feeling the doctor was right.

At least he was still here.

The sounds of screams and rat-tat of gunfire poured into his brain. He shut his eyes tightly and willed them into silence by humming his favourite techno dubstep beat into it instead. He kept having nightmares, sometimes even in the day, and this was the only way to stop an impending attack.

He supposed that he had some sort of post traumatic stress disorder but wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to ask his father to send him to a psychiatrist. That would be too humiliating as doubtless father would use it as another example of Jack’s weakness.

The classroom door opened and instead of the usual miserable face of Mr Cole, a young woman entered. She was wearing what looked like a military outfit.

“There have been many changes,” she said, without announcing who she was first, “and we need to be strong. Therefore, our great and wise leader has decided to create a new national anthem, one that will inspire and encourage us through our dark hours. From now on, you are all loyal to the country of Western China, even if you were not born here. Please all stand. Now put your hands on your hearts. See this?” she hung up a flag on the classroom board, “this is our flag. This is a new flag, also designed by our brilliant leader. This is our flag. You are loyal to this flag. Now, what are you loyal to?”

“The flag,” muttered the class, some looking at each other anxiously.

 _“This is all wrong,”_ thought Jack anxiously _, “isn’t this, like, indoctrination or something?”_

“Again,” cried the woman, “what are you loyal to?”

“The flag,” answered the children, this time in unison.

“Good. Now we are going to learn the new anthem.” She put a portable player on the table and pressed play.

 

“Dear Leader

How we love thee

In our land so fair

We are loyal to thee

 

Though our enemies bear down on us

We will fight bravely on

In our great leader and mighty land we trust

 

To die for you dear leader

Is the greatest gift we could give

And to die for you dear leader

Is the greatest gift we could receive.”

She played the song over and over again for about twenty minutes, before getting them to sing along. Period one and two, for everyone in the school, was learning this anthem. It was simple and droning, drumming its way into your head without ever sounding actually inspiring. Hands on hearts, their eyes focused on the flag, they sung again and again, as outside fighter jets zoomed across the blue skies.

 

 

 

Around the school large posters were being put up. There were two types, one was of their flag with the slogan, ‘Live for the Leader, Die for the Country.’ The other was the picture of their leader, looking out into the distance. It was a bit like the old Obama ‘We Can’ portrait, only there was no slogan for their Ruler.

Over the break as they walked slowly to the cafeteria, the new national anthem played over and over again on the school speakers.

Walking past the cafeteria without buying anything (seemed hardly anyone was eating as, for the first time ever, there wasn’t a queue to buy anything) he saw many groups of children huddled together comforting each other. It wasn’t just that a lot of children were staying home for fear of the classmates’ wrath, it was that on the day of the bombs almost everyone had been in town; many of his classmates were dead. Jack knew from the news that bodies were still being found under the rubble.

Cliques didn’t seem to exist anymore. One group of girls stood together. One was a very popular girl called Xin. She was weeping heavily and bitterly. In her hand she gripped a silly little teddy bear. The bear grinned up at Jack. All around Xin were girls, many who were distinctly unpopular, hugging and whispering words to her. No one cared about cliques because what did all that matter when your world was ending?

Jack wondered what the teddy bear meant. Who did it belong to? Who had bought it? Who had caused such bitter tears?

He walked outside, desperate for air.

“Hey...Jack.”

He turned slowly to see Ashley suddenly standing by his side. Tears welled up.

She was alive!

Ashley looked bad. Bruises and scratches were on her face and hands. The rest of her body was covered up. Normally Ashley broke all the school rules and wore her uniform short and revealing, if she bothered wearing uniform clothes at all. But today she wore a knee-length navy blue dress, a long-sleeved shirt buttoned up and her navy blazer.

Jack tried to open his mouth, but suddenly he didn’t know what to say.

“It took me a while to recognise you,” she said at length, “you almost look normal. It’s weird seeing you being all conventional.”

He glanced away and looked at the playground. It looked like a group of lads were arguing. He squinted his eyes. Who would want to fight and argue now? Wasn’t there enough unhappiness and violence?

“My mom wants us to leave,” Ashley said, evidently determined to fill the silence, “she’s frightened here. The weekend was bad enough with...with me being hurt...but then they threw things at the house. They smashed the windows and a big group of men nearly smashed through the door.”

Jack tensed, listening closely.

“It’s because we’re American-born. Daddy is trying to get in touch with the American Embassy, see if we can get away. I didn’t want to come to school but they insisted. Normally my parents can’t make me do anything I don’t want to,” (Jack knew that to be the truth) “but I’m so tired. I just did as I was told.”

Jack nodded, understanding.

The fight in front of them broke out. They could hear voices rising.

“Look, I’m just saying that this is a losing battle!” one boy was shouting. “I can’t see how we can beat them! America is on their side, and soon Britain will join in because they always do!”

“There are talks of a change,” argued another boy, “their country is going through a presidential change which could change what side they’re on. We’re no threat to anyone.”

“Neither was Vietnam!”

“It’s all the East’s fault,” argued a third boy, “none of these other countries matter. We need to eliminate the East.”

“Hey, I have family out there!” shouted another girl her voice shaking with emotion, “I don’t want any more death!”

“Oh stop being a child,” sneered another girl, “of course there will be more death.”

“Look this is crazy,” said the boy who first spoke, “and what if the other side are right? What if we are in a dictatorship? Think about it, no one can leave, we all feel pressured to look the same suddenly, distrust is soaring and now we have this new flag and song?”

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment. Jack gulped anxiously. Everyone was staring at the boy. The boy himself seemed to realise at once that he had said too much, he turned very pale and began to shake slightly.

“That’s about supporting our country!” began one boy in response, disgust in his voice, “are you saying we _shouldn’t_ be proud of who we are or our great Leader?!”

“I bet you are on their side aren’t you!”

“What?” the original boy said, “no, no I’m not. I’m just saying-” but before he could finish his sentence one of the students ran forward and punched him in the face. At once, all the built up grief and resentment and anger poured out, and the children all piled upon the one boy.

Ashley screamed and Jack felt ice shoot up his spine.  Ashley was shaking him and screaming, “we need to help him!” She was weeping, “we need to help him! I can’t take this anymore!”

But Jack, feeling like his was underwater, all his movements slow and his hearing impaired, could only shake his head. What could he do?

Ashley continued to scream.

A few kids stumbled away from the violence, looking stunned. They had blood on them. Ashley promptly threw up and Jack ran, a spurt of adrenaline overcoming the aches of his body. He hurtled through the doors into the canteen and grabbed a member of staff, “He’s dying!” he cried shaking the teacher’s lapels, “they’re gonna kill him!”

But the teacher just looked at him blankly. Jack realised that the member of staff was another person from the Government, and that this person had most likely heard, if not seen, the entire argument. But he was not going to save that boy.

Jack stepped backwards, afraid of the man’s dead eyes.

Then he ran outside again. But it was too late. The boy was lying in a puddle of blood. He looked like a broken doll. Ashley was on the floor, crying heavily. Students, covered in smatterings of blood, were either crying or slumped in shock of their own actions.

 He could see some of them thinking, working out a way to justify their brutality. One of the boys, the one who had initiated the bloodbath, looked up at Jack. Then his eyes, as dead as the Government agent’s, slowly moved to take in Ashley.

Jack looked at her and felt his heart stop for a moment when he realised how she looked. Ashley had pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair. She looked American. He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet and running back indoors with her.

Ashley’s mom was right; she and the family would need to leave and soon or else they’d all be killed.


	6. Chapter 6

“To surrender to a faith so fake

To not comprehend while you're awake.”

~ Dimmu Borgir, ‘IndocriNation’

 

 

 

After the horrible events of break time, Jack and Ashley wanted to do nothing more than bunk of school and go smoke somewhere. Jack had never smoked weed, but no he was seriously contemplated stealing some of his sister’s stash. In the cool school hallway the pair stood together, aware of their foreignness and feeling a sudden hostility from those who had once been friends.

“You’ll be all right,” she said quietly, looking up at Jack, “you’ve got Asian blood. Your dad is western Chinese, right?”

Jack thought slowly to himself before nodding in the affirmative. “But my mom is from Russia,” he said quietly. “Listen, my sisters are dying their hair black. Maybe you should do the same, just for now until the Embassy can help get you all away from here.”

They spoke in whispers, packed tightly together. The pair were terrified. All around them their Leader was looking out. It made Jack think of Orwell’s _1984,_ something he had barely gotten partway through for school before giving up. Maybe there were listening devices in these posters; maybe he and Ashley were being watched. He gulped and felt sweat forming on his forehead. His body ached anew with anxiety and tension thrumming through battered bones. Maybe he should finish the book now that he was living it.

“What are you thinking about?” whispered Ashley. Jack looked at her to see her standing very close, her eyes focused on his. He glanced away to create some space.

“A book,” he said, “I never finished it but…” he lowered his voice further, “but in it the people were being watched all the time. The government controlled them. But they didn’t even know, they didn’t realise they were being oppressed. I thought it was stupid but,” he shrugged. Then he looked at Ashley a sudden realisation in his eyes, “Mr. Cole made us read it a few months back. It’s not even on the curriculum. Do you reckon he was trying to tell us something?”

She shrugged, disconcerted, “I dunno. Where is he? Maybe he was hurt in…in the thing in town.”

“Maybe. But he doesn’t seem the type to go to that sort of thing. He hated people.”

A teacher walked passed, observing the pair. Instinctively they both looked at the ground, Ashley stepping closer to Jack and catching a few of his fingers in her own. They looked like a shy couple. The teacher moved on.

“I hate this,” Ashley barely whispered.

Jack let out a shaky breath, looking up at the posters decorating his school.

What could he say? There was nothing. They were in purgatory before, but now they were in Hell.

The bell rang and they returned to classes.

None of the teachers mentioned the student who had been attacked. By what Jack could tell, no one was reprimanded for the assault either. Instead, the blinds were pulled down on the windows and they were made to watch a couple of educational films. One was of their Leader, sitting behind a desk. A voiceover described how clever he was; that like the Buddha and Jesus and Mohammed, he realised that society was a mess and that he could fix it. It explained how he understood how to make their country great again. He would improve job prospects and medical care. He would control immigration. A cartoon popped up, showing millions of hideous cockroaches crawling through cracks in a wall.

“These are the enemy,” said the video, “they infiltrate our society through wild, uncontrolled immigration. They corrupt. The Muslim,” here a caricature with a long beard and thick lips which he licked lasciviously, “the Christian,” another man, now with a large roman nose holding a whip in one hand and a bible in the other scowled at the camera, “all come to destroy our culture. And they are funded by the Jew.” Now there was a cartoon of trio of laughing orthodox Jews, throwing about money. They had large, crooked noses and teeth. They rubbed their hands in glee.

“They do this for many reasons,” the voiceover continued as attractive images involving their country were now shown, “they know of West China’s great resources and covet them for themselves. They are jealous of our great history and wish to ruin it. They are aware of our beautiful women and wish to rape them. They know our culture is superior to theirs; based on logic, reason, kindness and freedom. They hate this and aim to bring it down. For us to be loose and unsophisticated like the westerners, to be uneducated like the African and to be barbaric like the Arabs.”

Now the camera showed Chinese school children, all wearing the same black uniforms. Their hair was styled in the same way; the girls with two long braid either side of the head with a straight middle parting; the boys with a parting on the right side of their head, their fringes smoothed across the top of their foreheads. They all stood straight and proud.

“What will you do to protect our nation? What will you do to bring our Dear Leader’s Vision to the world? Will you be a martyr to the cause, or a weakling that time will forget?”

The national anthem played as the credits rolled, finishing with the slogan, ‘Live for the Leader, Die for the Country,’ which was held up for some time before their new teacher turned off the video.

Without saying a word she put in another tape, thankfully less blatant propaganda.  This next video taught them about how to react should they be attacked again whilst in school. The video was pretty short, the advice amounting to little more than ‘get under the table and stay there.’ After they were made to practice the video, hiding under the table and then getting into a line and marching out of the school into the recess area, as if it were a normal fire drill. From there they had the register taken. Hardly anyone answered and barely anyone was in school.

Jack looked across the grounds from his position and saw Ashley a few queues down. She looked miserable and tired; but then so did everyone else. Normally, in fire drills, everyone would talk. But now they were all completely silent. He could even hear the birds tweeting in the trees.

Once all the registers were taken, the Head Master came out to look at his pupils.

“I know,” he began in a loud voice, “that things have been very hard recently. The events of the weekend have been devastating. I know many of you and many of the staff have lost loved ones. Many of our own are ill or have been killed by the atrocities committed. For those not watching the news, we were attacked by the East. They do not agree with our way of life, even though it is one of peace and prosperity. They wish for us to be under their rule, which only bought misery. They East have always been a wicked people. If you have family or friends there, I suggest you cut them off, like one removes a gangrenous body part. They are a naturally evil people and the events of this weekend are proof of that. Now I have some much needed good news. It has only just been announced and I was very keen to let you all know.”

Jack blinked. Could it be? Had peace been brokered? Had the two sides sorted out their differences in the hope no more innocent people would die?

“The official age limit to join the army,” the Head continued, “has been lowered to fifteen! Congratulations! Many of you now have the chance to Live for the Leader and to Die for your country. Though your education is important, these are dark days and so I have no qualms about anyone leaving school to go fight. If you will die, your blood will water a new future for West China. Your sacrifice will save your mothers and fathers; your siblings; your descendants. You will enter a Hall of Fame, a Hall for Heroes. To die fighting for our Leader and his vision is the most noble death imaginable.” He let out a dry chuckle, “honestly I am a little jealous of all the young men and women here who have such an opportunity. Do not waste it. This is your chance. Live for the Leader, Die for your country. Repeat!”

“Live for your leader,” they all intoned, “die for your country.”

“Repeat!”

“Live for your leader, die for your country.”

“Repeat!”

“Live for your leader, die for your country.”

“Excellent, now we shall sing our new national anthem. Anyone getting it wrong will be severely punished as you should all know it by now.”

The dirge began once more and Jack felt his insides were cold, cold like ice.

 

 

 

Later that evening he sat on the settee between his sisters. His mother was in the kitchen washing up. Father entered the room and sat on the armchair in the corner.

They were all watching the news.

“The devastation is overwhelming,” the pretty news anchor, Rin, was saying to the camera. She was in the city centre, standing amidst the rubble.  In the background were several relief workers. “People stand out the outskirts, waiting to hear news of their loved ones who did not return home after Saturday’s terror attacks.  The predicted cost of fixing the city is in its billions. But the cost of the lives lost here will never be sated until our enemies have felt the same level of horror.”

They cut back to the news room where the studio anchor thanked Rin for her brave, unbiased reporting. He looked grimly at the camera, “these sad events continue, but there is hope on the horizon. The United Nations have declared the atrocities as illegal, but as of yet are not getting directly involved. They have offered to send relief agents to help with the clean-up. Better is the news from Russia.”

The news now turned to a clip of the Russian Leader addressing the media, “the attack on The Republic of Western China was illegal and wrong,” the subtitles explained as he spoke in furious Russian, “therefore Russia will ally itself to the Republic. We cannot let the East become like the Middle East; a place of war and ruin. We will nip this in its infancy, removing any more attacks and war. If the West dare to attack the East, it will provoke our wrath.”

“See,” said Joanne, a slightly pleased and smug tone to her voice, “the world agrees with us.”

“Not exactly the world,” Jack muttered.

“Everyone who’s opinion actually matters,” she sneered, “no one cares about what America have to say. Everyone knows they’re capitalist idiots who vote in Porn-Star fuckers and their fat people are sheep. Russia has strength. It’s good to have them on side. It shows that we’re in the right.”

Jack sighed and leaned against Judy, who looked half asleep and was shaking slightly from withdrawal. Father must have taken her entire stash.

“They nearly killed a kid today,” said Jack at last, feeling rebellious. “He just didn’t agree with everything that was happening. We have a new flag and a new anthem. They keep telling us to die for our country and live for our Leader.”

“So they should,” barked Joanne, “it’s your country, you need to protect it!”

“It’s not my country,” sighed Judy, her voice slow and slurred, “Borders are bullshit. Notice how borders never exist for the rich? They go where they like. Always have. Doesn’t matter where they want to live or where they want to work. No one owns any country anyway.”

“No one needs to hear your socialist bullcrap,” snapped Joanne.

“It’s nothing to do with the country,” insisted Jack, “it’s our leader and his vision…” He suddenly paused, feeling stressed and like he had said too much. Apparently the others thought the same as there was a sudden tension.

“Maybe I should tell the police what you think,” began Joanne lightly, “maybe they would like to hear your views.”

“Quiet,” came the demand from the corner of the room. Father sat in his chair, looking relaxed. “No reporting on one another. No more arguing. We are here and we go with whatever we are told to go along with. No questions asked. And do not put your hope in anyone other than me. Everything will be fine, just obey me.”

“Yes father,” the three intoned like drones.

 

 

 

The following day of school was much like the first, only this time army personal entered the school and began to tell the students about all the great things that could happen if you joined the army. You get to see the world; you get to learn a skill; best of all, you get to live for your leader and maybe even to die for your country. Several kids signed up straight away. Jack kept quiet. He had never been so silent before the attacks on the weekend. A rumour started about the boy who had been attacked the day before; people were saying he died in hospital. Those who committed the attack either cried alone in the toilets or signed up to be soldiers with cold defiance in their eyes.

Jack wondered how much longer any of the attackers would survive before killing themselves through suicide or through war.

Ashley had come in with jet black hair pulled into two short braids. She looked even more tired than yesterday. She and Jack ate together at lunchtime out in the fields, far away from any other student. They talked about the monks and reminisced about all the silly adventures they’d had trying to find shen gong wu. It all seemed very long ago.

Overhead, fighter jets had zoomed in the sky. It made Jack feel sick and the flashes of horror kept coming up in his mind. Ashley was surprisingly nice about it, staying quiet until the moments passed. They never discussed it.

Jack arrived home to see armed officers carrying boxes out of the house. He paled and went inside as quickly as his healing body could allow. The officers were going down into his lair.

“Hey, hey!” he barked, “what are you doing?”

The officers ignored him and continued on their mission. He limped downstairs and pushed into the lair. The basement stood large and empty save for a few soldiers in the shadows taking out a few smaller experiments. In the middle of the room stood the tall, thin figure of his father. He was holding one Jack’s robots in his hands.

“Is this what you have been spending my money on?” he asked calmly.

The robot was one of his Butler Bots. It was grinning and garish and suddenly Jack felt pretty stupid. He felt himself shrinking into his own body. Somehow his father always made him feel like a five-year-old who’d wet himself.

“Aren’t you going to answer me Jack?”

He looked at the floor. He felt like his mouth and throat were constricted. Jack heard his father stand right in front of him. He could see the long, dark shadow on the floor. He could even feel the cool air from his father’s body, as if his father was made of ice, as well as the slow steady breathing as Jack’s own breath and heart beat began to race. The robot was flung at his feet. He flinched, almost as if he’d been slapped.

“Pick it up.” Said Father. There was a pause before, “pick it up!”

Jack flinched again before bending down slowly, feeling the ache in his joints and bones, and taking the robot. He felt the heavy weight of it in his hands and it comforted him. Jack loved his bots.  He looked at the fake grin etched into the metalwork; it felt more real to him than any of the smiles his family would occasionally throw his way.

“Now give it to the soldiers. Give it to them and apologise.”

This forced Jack to raise his eyes from the ground. He looked around, everywhere but directly in front where his dad stood. Soldiers were now standing around, all looking at him with blank eyes. They’d all watched him getting chewed out by his pop, and he felt his face begin to redden.

He walked up to the soldier standing nearest to the door. He glanced up at the man’s face. His eyes were trying to be blank and cold, trying to be what he was trained to be, but Jack could see that this soldier was really just a boy, only a little older than himself. He passed his Butler Bot to the soldier muttering a, “sorry.”

The soldier took it and walked away briskly, the feeling of awkwardness lingering in the air. The other soldiers followed suit, leaving one by one.

“You have lost your rights to this room,” said Father, “it was unfair for me to allow you two places when your sisters have to make do with only having a bedroom each. The basement is now a bomb shelter, and so will be more use now than it ever was in your care.”

“Yes father.”

“Go help your mother go shopping. Soon they’ll be no food left the way people are panicking.”

“Yes father.” Jack turned and left the basement. He didn’t even have the courage to ask his dad where exactly his inventions and experiments were being taken to.


	7. Chapter 7

**This Be The Verse**

 

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

 

But they were fucked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.

  * Phillip Larkin



 

 

The second attack by the East focused on a province where the Prime Minister, now known only as Dear Leader, lived. The East said that they did not want to attack innocents, but only rebel forces whom they called terrorists. The West said that the East were terrorists.

“They cause terror with their bombs,” the news anchor raged, “they kill innocent people. They wish to terrorise us into bending to their will. We will not! We live for the leader and we will die for our country!”

Russia as promised attacked the East. The news and the people were in jubilation. There were even a few private parties in people’s homes as they cheered for the devastation being reported on the news. The East said Russia had bombed a school and a hospital. Russia said they’d done no such thing but had attacked a military base. With no internet, nothing was clear, it was just two sides saying different things. No investigation could be done by individuals like Jack.

Jack found himself reading often. His father had taken away his games so he had nothing else to do. Sometimes he listened to his music through his headphones; the house was chillingly quiet when his sister wasn’t banging angrily at the keys of her piano. But reading was sometimes even better than listening to music because in a book you could immerse yourself in another character in another world. Even when listening to music, he was still Jack and still trapped in his own mind which was becoming a very dark place, and not in the cool villain way, but in a sad lonely way. He finally finished _1984_ which had fooled him into thinking he was reading a relatively boring love story set in an interesting dystopia. He now found himself wishing he’d never read it at all. The ending chilled him. His nightmares, frequent now, had taken on the unwelcome addition of him being thrown into Room 101. His dreams now featured rats.

He read _The Grapes of Wrath_ next and found himself hating Americans. They were so greedy and so stupid that they didn’t even care about one another. He told himself that he had hated Raimundo and Jerome. He even found himself hoping they got bombed next, so that they knew what it felt like to be constantly afraid.

Then he felt like a jerk.

He hadn’t hated Jerome or Raimundo. Also, Ashley was an American and he had come to care about her deeply. It wasn’t a crush or anything like that, it was just the simple relief of knowing someone out there understood his horror and his misery. None of his family had been in the Carnival Attack. Joanne could rant away all she liked, but she had never been so close to an explosion that it throws you backwards; to be so sick with fear that you’d climb into a filthy bin and hide for hours amongst the refuse because you just couldn’t face going back out there; to see and hear people dying all around you but being helpless to do anything. Seeing burnt bodies, twisted and black and in strange angles; the mouths of corpses open in frozen screams.

Further, Jack wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Anyone. Not the East. Not the Americans. Not the Monks. Not even Dear Leader.

The East did not take kindly to being bombed by Russia. It was then that attacks became common place. The East sent drones to the Republic. From then on the family often went into the basement, which now had a cot for each of them and a lot of tinned food. Public raid shelters sprang up around the Republic but were quietly and resentfully acknowledged as being useless. Air Raid sirens were also scattered about, letting out a loud wail as soon as war planes were seen approaching.

The city went from a normal, beautiful metropolis to a filthy pile of rubble. Feral packs of young children would be seen on the streets, their parents dead and their schools destroyed, picking through the ruins for food.

By the time they were on their fourth consecutive attack from the east, food was starting to run out. Crime sky-rocketed. Police responded with increasing brutality and death at the hands of cops became commonplace and accepted. Police were no longer the friend of the people; they were no longer the up holders of justice and an example to society. They became god-like. No one was to question them. They had divine rights, bestowed on them by the Dear Leader. Every decision they made was correct, even if that decision was gunning down men, women and children in droves. They stopped becoming public servants and instead became Grim Reapers.

Soon, there was a lot of buzz around the European Union. Apparently they did not like what was happening. The UK was siding solely with America and with the East. However, other European countries were more inclined to Russia’s thinking and were supportive of the Republic. Old resentments of the United States were suddenly resurfacing; fears of another Middle East shit-storm were circulating. Cries of outrage were sent to the United Nations, who’s stance of neutrality was becoming increasingly unsupportable.

It became a game of chess; who would side with them? Who would be against them? What would this mean for the people? What would this mean for their chances of winning the war?

School was now a training camp. Jack learnt how to use the weapons of the military, which were old, clunky and ridiculous compared to the things he’d created in his basement. Jack did surprisingly well as a soldier-in-training. He was agile and could take a hit well. It was because of all his time getting his ass kicked by the monks, but he kept that information to himself. They would watch propaganda videos all afternoon before singing the anthem and going home.

Jack would read to get away from their rhetoric, to allow himself to think again. Sometimes, if even that was too much, he would use the monkey staff. However, using the wu was dangerous, so he only did that when he had truly awful days.

 

 

Watching the news was the norm now.

It was the only thing of any substance on TV. There was no internet and no way of communicating with anyone. Phone lines had been back up for a while, though calls could only be local.

Jack had heard the phone ringing earlier that week and had been keen to answer it; he rarely spoke to anyone nowadays.

“Hello, Spicer household?”

“Jack,” a tired, male voice greeted him, “it’s Uncle Dima. Is your father there?”

“No, he’s working.” Father was always at work. “But mom is here.”

A pause before, “ah…yeah I don’t want to bother your mother.”

 _“But she’s your sister,”_ Jack thought _, “and you never want to speak to her.”_

“I was just thinking,” his uncle continued, “you used to hang out with those monks in…” (“ _in Western China”_ ) “in the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering, your cousin is staying there. I was hoping you could tell me how to contact them. She needs to come home.”

Jack let out a small, quiet sigh, “I’m not sure. I always had to speak to them in person. They’re isolated.” He paused and added meaningfully, “the order was not pacifistic, but they were apolitical and didn’t respect borders. There’s every chance she doesn’t know the extent of…of how much she is needed back home.”

They were both quiet for a moment, Uncle Dima thinking of his daughter and Jack wondering if it wasn’t for the best that Megan stays away from the Republic. But then, what if West China forced her to be on their side? Would she not end up fighting her own family and friends?

“There was a girl,” Jack said at last, “called Kimiko. She had a mobile phone. I don’t know the number but her father was Tohomiko of Tohomiko Electronics. If you can get communication to him in Japan, maybe then you can get to Kimiko and then Megan.”

“All right,” Uncle Dima responded after a while. They both knew that this was an almost impossible task, “all right. I shall see what I can do. Oh, and Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell your father about this.”

A tense silence.

“If he asks I’ll have to,” answered Jack, hating that his uncle had asked this from him. He wouldn’t have mentioned the conversation to Father beforehand as they didn’t talk anyway, but now he felt like he needed to.

“Ok, I understand. Goodbye Jack.”

“Bye.”

 

 

 “My family are driving me crazy.”

Ashley draped herself over Jack’s bed. Her family had come round to see Jack’s family; the two dynasties having a relationship going back decades. Jack wasn’t sure how anyone could actually be friends with his dad, but Ashley’s obnoxious father somehow was. The two men couldn’t be more different; Jack’s father being quiet and intense, Ashley’s being boisterous and extroverted. One kept his cards close to his chest, the other wore his heart on his sleeve. Jack’s dad was stick thin, pale with dark eyes and hair where Ashley’s father was broad, tanned, with blue eyes and blonde hair. You never knew what Jack’s dad was thinking but you always knew what Ashley’s was because he’d tell you regardless of context or socially construed manners.

Winter was fast approaching but the heating was off. Everyone was pretty damned poor now, even their respective families in their large, middle-class homes. Jack and Ashley climbed under the quilt of his bed.

Ashley looked around the room. Piles of paperbacks littered every available space.

“Been reading a lot?”

“I had nothing else to do,” he said, “read just about everything in the house. What about you?”

“I date,” she answered simply, “and listen to a lot of music.”

“Date? Date who?”

She sighed, flicking her black hair from her face. She was growing it so that eventually she could properly braid it into two pigtails, which was deemed an appropriate hairstyle of women her age.

“I know I’m a social pariah but I’m still pretty hot Jack. A boy called Yun. He’s nice. We go for walks mainly, as there isn’t much else to do. We can’t kiss or anything because there’s always some old bag watching, hoping to shop us into the police for sexual misbehaviour. We used to feed the ducks before the bread ran out.” She paused before, “his family don’t know about me. If I can get contacts to make my eyes brown, then he’ll introduce me.”

Jack lay quietly for a moment before, “well he’s lucky to have you, never forget that.”

She glanced at him. Jack had become quiet. She knew that he had never recovered from the Carnival Attacks. He needed therapy, but that wasn’t going to happen with his father being a sociopath and his mother being a brainless idiot. But it was sad, watching him slowly fading away day after day. She wondered if the damage was now too great to ever be healed.

It wasn’t much better for her, but unlike Jack she’d always been better at hiding her emotions. But she couldn’t think about the attacks…she just couldn’t. It was bad enough that she remembered every night in her dreams, reliving the nightmare over and over again. It couldn’t invade her daytime as well.

However it was clear that Jack mused on the situation often, and it wasn’t doing him any good. He needed to get out there, he needed to try to forget.

 “You’re not a bad-looking kid yourself.” She said at last. “You should try to meet new people. All that stuff before about being popular means nothing now. Having a girlfriend, or boyfriend, in times like these can be nice.”

Jack shrugged, “I’m ok.”

“Are you still hung up on Chase? Or Wuya? Or Kimiko?” She leaned back, observing him contemplatively, “I even wondered if you had a thing for Raimundo at one point.”

“No,” he said shortly, sitting up in the bed and resting against the headboard. “There’s no one I think of like that. I just…I don’t have that in me anymore.”

Ashley felt something inside her become quiet and still. “What do you mean?”

Jack looked down at the bed-spread, “I used to…” he began haltingly, “I used to have a lot of…fire…like…passion, I suppose. But, it isn’t there anymore. It’s gone away. That day, when I walked home. And I got here and…and my mom was in the kitchen. Like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. I didn’t understand anything back then. Evil isn’t wearing black and having an evil laugh. Evil is a child being set on fire by a bomb. It’s the indiscriminate death of –” he stopped. He sighed. “It’s all gone. I feel old. I just don’t care about that sort of thing anymore.”

She put her hand on his head and began to brush through his hair slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

“Nothing to be sorry about, you were there too, you saw-”

The image of her boyfriend bleeding out next her flashed in her mind’s eye as the memory of a child screaming pierced through her, making her flinch. “I don’t –” she bit out, “I can’t talk about it.”

He nodded, looking at her coldly. It wasn’t unlike how his father looked at people sometimes.

 

 

“This is a Public service announcement!

“We are all united in the grief of our loved ones being killed by the Allies of Wickedness. Our population has been heavily reduced.

“This is genocide. They are wiping us out because they do not respect our independence or way of life.

“We shall resist! Our Great and wonderous Leader has implemented a brilliant new plan.

“And you, yes you, can live for your leader.

“The age of consent and the right to marry is no longer fourteen. Scientists have discovered that due to our superior genes and brains, not only is our IQ much higher than everyone else, but also our levels of maturity are higher than average. Therefore, the ages of consent have been changed to accurately represent our superiority! It is now age twelve for boys and for our mature and sensible women, age ten.

“Have a daughter you cannot feed? Get her married to a man who can take care of her!

“Socially awkward? Shy? Speak to our new matchmakers! They will set you up.

“Our leader follows his own laws for he is a man of the people. He has recently married his ten-year-old niece. What a handsome couple they make!

“We want all our young people to be happy and looked after. Once puberty hits, it is your duty to create more children to fill our wonderful country.

“Live for your Leader! Die for your country!”

 

 

Jack looked through the books in the school library. Many of the titles had been taken off the shelves. There were a lot more history books, all new editions, with slightly different facts to the ones he was used to. It seems that East China had always been pretty evil towards the West.

It was lunchtime. Usually he spent time with Ashley, but she hadn’t arrived in school that day. He wanted something pleasant to read. He had enjoyed the first two books of the _Anne of Green Gables_ series, but he hadn’t the rest of the collection. He doubted school had anything that belonged to US authors now.

“Jack Spicer, isn’t it?” A voice calmly asked.

He turned to see a military man, older, wider, standing a little way from him. Jack hadn’t even heard him enter the library. The school staff was almost exclusively older, military personal now. He didn’t know where the majority of teachers had gone. The teachers that still were here were like the students; either frightened and tight-lipped, or bright eyed and furious with the Republic’s enemies.

“Yes Sir,” he said at once, straightening like a soldier as they were teaching them.

“An American name.”

He felt his stomach lurch slightly, “we are not American, Sir,” he corrected lightly, “we’re part Russian.”

The man smiled and he felt his stomach loosen a little. Russia was in the Republic’s good graces. “Excellent. Not a traditional Russian name. And a Chinese one would have been preferable.”

“I agree Sir,” he allowed himself a watery smile. He didn’t know how he did it. It felt foreign and strange on his face. But he needed to survive, and that meant having some camaraderie with this old bigoted man.

The soldier chuckled. “No, I suppose your parents’ decisions are hardly your fault. Jack, I have been watching you. You are very good on the field. Not strong, but agile, clever. You’re a good problem solver.”

“Thank you sir,” he felt cold and frightened again. It was not a good thing to be considered clever or a thinker.

“How old are you son?”

A pause.

“S-sixteen Sir.”

The man jolted in surprise. It looked false and clearly was put on for effect, “Sixteen?” He repeated, “and yet…and yet you are not married and you have not signed up for war. May I ask why?”

Jack looked at the ground, hiding his neck so that he could gulp nervously, “I’ve not yet met the right girl sir. And I am not strong Sir. Like you say. I thought that,” he looked back up, “I could perhaps live for our leader by leading a productive life outside of the army. Perhaps creating weapons. I…I can do things like that. I of course hope to have a family one day also.”

“Making weapons. That is vital.” The man sat down gingerly. Looking at the tags on his uniform, Jack could see that he was a General. “You know,” the General continued, “that if you stay in school and then go straight to…to some lab making weapons, you’ll become some pencil neck dweeb. But if you go into the army, become a man, fight for your country, when you begin to design your weapons, you will have first hand experience of what we need and how we can implement it. It would be real world experience. It’d be very good for you.”

Jack faltered, “I…see what you mean sir.”

“We know your father designs weapons,” continued the General, making Jack wonder why this man was asking him about his heritage when apparently he knew all about Jack anyway, “he’s come out with some amazing prototypes recently. We’re very impressed.”

Jack said nothing, but his heart felt bitter.

“If you are anything like him, we could do with your brain. However, right now you are not living up to your potential. Skulking around at home reading kids’ books. Hanging around that loose girl, the American.” The General shook his head, “I think you should sign up. We could go down now.”

Jack knew what was happening.

He understood perfectly.

“Of course Sir,” he answered obediently.

A false, cold smile was sent his way. Together, the General and Jack left the library.

 

Jack didn’t go home straight after school, which was the norm. Instead he wove his way through the ruined streets down broken roads to the south of his home. Packs of kids, orphans, huddled in craters of the buildings. As he went out further into the suburbs a few honest citizens were doing their best, sweeping the roads and tidying their gardens as well as they could. Hardly anyone grew flowers or grass lawns anymore. They grew vegetables. The clever streets worked together; one house growing potatoes, the next tomatoes, the next daikon, the next cucumber and so on. Then everyone traded and shared. A few very smart (and richer) people bought chickens or goats.

Ashley’s house was a large, crass thing that loomed over the rest of the neighbourhood. It was like those medieval castles that stood on the hills looking over the peasants in their small huts. It probably hadn’t helped the feelings of resentment towards the American family.

The outside was covered in graffiti and insulting names and caricature drawings of Americans and Christians. Ashley and her family weren’t Christians but being western meant that the stereotype was assumed true.

He knocked on her front door and paused when it swung open of its own accord. He stepped inside.

“Ashley? Are you here?”

The large house was made larger by its emptiness. The family must have left.

“Oh,” he muttered. She was gone. Ok. Well so would he be soon…

“Jack?”

He looked up.

Ashley stood on the stairs. Her hair was in two messy braids, the dye fading at the top where her roots were coming through. She looked very pale. She had taken out her contacts so her eyes were a natural blue. They were also reddened from crying.

“What happened?” he asked, coming towards the bottom of the stairs. She stepped down slowly, coming to sit on the bottom step. He joined her.

“I came home the other day to find it like this,” she explained, “they’ve gone. Left. Leaving me behind.”

It was quiet as Jack processed this news.

“But why?”

She shrugged.

He felt an old spark of something then. Anger perhaps.

“They abandoned you? Or have they been taken?”

“I went to the American embassy,” she continued, her voice flat, “but all the representatives have been told to leave. But one lady, carrying a box of office stuff into her car, said that my family had come for Visas. Only two. For mom and dad. They’ve gone back home. Mom was born here, but her family are from Chicago. Dad’s from…somewhere Midwest. They’ve gone and I can’t,” she shrugged, “I can’t go after them. That was the last chance. Last plane out. I’m stuck here with no one.”

They sat silently. Outside it began to grow dark as the sun set behind the tall, city structures.

“Have you eaten?”

“Of course not,” she sighed, “Jack I know your parents are…difficult…but is there anyway I could stay with you?”

“I can ask,” he said, “but…today a General came into the library to speak to me. I’ve been drafted into the army.”

“What?” she muttered, shock making her quiet.

“It’s not my choice. I didn’t want to. But he made it clear. He knew about me. I think father may have had some hand in it too. He took my bots and I think he’s passing them off as his own.”

She bowed her head and rested it on her arms, “oh my god. Jack this is…”

He looked down at her. Slowly he bought his hand to her head and stroked down, brushing the fine hairs to the back of her neck. Her skin was warm. He kept his hand on her neck, which broke out into goosebumps.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I won’t be deployed for straight away. I came here because… I think,” his voice dropped even lower, “we need to hide the wu…”

She lifted her head and looked at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes were glassy with misery and unshed tears. “How?”

“Bury them somewhere,” they were talking so quietly they could hardly hear each other, despite sitting so close that their legs were pressed together.

They both understood. The wu were powerful items. The government could not get its hands on them. None of the governments; friend or foe. It wasn’t just that the last four months had taught Ashley and Jack hard lessons in being responsible, but also the part of them that wanted to keep at least one thing pure. Their childhood had been the Shen Gong Wu. Nothing was ever going to be the same again, but if they could protect this one thing from their childhood, then they needed to do that.

She put her arms around his neck pulling him in close. Their noses touched.

“I don’t want you to go to war,” she whispered.

They pressed their lips together. He brushed his face against hers.

“Where’s the wu?”

“In my room.”

“I have the monkey staff hidden away. I’m going to go get it. Then we can meet and bury it.”

“Down by the West Bank is all deserted now. No one goes there.”

“Ok. We’ll meet in an hour. If one of us doesn’t turn up, the other needs to just carry on and then go home.”

He felt her nod. She was shaking slightly. He hugged her tightly for a second before letting go and standing.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Jack,” she said forlornly. He felt wrong leaving her alone in that empty house.

 

The monkey staff had been hidden in his room. It was placed into the side panel at the bottom of his bedroom wall, the section behind his bed. As he took it out and placed it into a large cardboard cylinder which had once housed a poster, he was glad that his family paid so little attention to him. Dad was out, his sisters were either hidden somewhere the labyrinth of their home or outside as well, mom was in the living wiping down the coffee table.

He passed by the living room and watched her for a little while, hovering in just behind the threshold.

“Hey mom? Why don’t you sit down and relax? Maybe watch some TV?”

“Now dear,” she answered flatly, not looking up or stopping what she was doing, “you know how much I love to clean.”

He walked outside into the crisp air.

It was dark.

The lights of the streets were out. If they were on, they could alert enemy forces to their homes.

Luckily Jack knew the streets very well now, having reacquainted himself with them after the first few attacks. With little else to do but eat, sleep and attend military training, roaming around outside was the new Internet for West China’s youth.

It took around twenty minutes to get to the West Bank. There was a small, man-made stream that was used by the local authority to get water to the city. Through damage and pollution, the once busy, gushing river was now sludgy and brown. The factory often was closed down and the machines barely worked, so getting clean water was increasingly difficult. Jack wondered if people would eventually end up using rainwater.

He sighed and knelt down by the bank. The ground was sludgy, sucking in his boots. It also stank with decay and hummed with bugs and flying things.

 _“I can’t believe this is my real life,”_ he thought not for the first time. From the time the first bomb fell, nothing seemed real. It was as if his life had become a show. As if he always existed slightly outside of his body, like a film-goer at the cinema. They were normal people from a rich area. How had it come to this?

He waited another ten minutes, each minute worrying that Ashley wouldn’t arrive; that she’d been killed in the streets for being a western foreigner. But then she arrived.

“I had to grab this,” she whispered, holding up a spade. Of course. She always had more common sense than him.

They dug in silence for a while, taking it in turns with the space, before dropping in their Wu.

“Will they really be safe here?” she asked.

“No where is safe,” he answered, even though he knew she already knew that.

It was cold out. Autumn was settling in.

They huddled together on a stone wall, looking out into the city. What once would have been a sea of city lights accompanied by a susurrus of late-night traffic was now a deep shadow stretching into the horizon.

They held hands, both stiff and cold.

“There’s talk of a curfew,” she said, shuddering and pushing herself further into his side, “there’s too much crime happening at night.”

Jack pulled a face, “there’s hardly any cops…”

“They’re reinventing a new force. Men who couldn’t join the army for whatever reason.”

Jack nodded, it made sense. “What are you going to do Ashley?”

“After you left, I got talking to the boy I’ve been dating, Yun? Now I’ve got contacts his family may approve me for marriage. His mother works in a hospital and they have this new training programme. I might join it.”

He leaned his head against hers. He was so tired.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad he’s marrying you,” he said after a few moments. “I didn’t like the idea that he was using you.”

“I think he just wants to get laid,” she stated, “and now marriage is the quickest way to do that. Also it means he has a choice of who he marries rather than risking the State choosing for him.”

Jack shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t know this guy she’d been dating, but he knew that Yun seemed to have all the power in the relationship. What if he’s parents didn’t approve of Ashley? What if this boy decided to toy with her, now he had so much choice? And even if he did marry her, how would she live her life? How much would she be dictated by Yun and his prejudiced family?

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he stated.

“I don’t like the sound of you going to war.”

Jack turned to her, “do you want me to marry you?”

She stiffened, then looked up at him, “what? Really?”

“Why not? You get to be your own person that way. And it’s honourable, right, having a husband in the military? It proves that you are loyal, even if you’re blonde and blue eyed.”

Her eyes welled with grateful tears, “I appreciate Jack. I really do. It means I could still-”

“Live a normal life? To a point anyway.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away an errant tear with her cold hand, “but what if you find someone you like? In the army or whatever? I don’t want you to be stuck with me.”

“I won’t be. On the off-chance we survive this, we can still date other people. It’s a marriage of convenience. What do you say?”

She let out a small laugh, “yes, I will marry you.”

“Good,” he found himself settling a little. The tense feeling lessened, just a little. “Will Yun be a problem?”

“No, it wasn’t love it was casual. I’ll tell him that you’re an old friend, going to war, and we needed to get married, so that you could…could have the potential of getting me pregnant before you left. I’m doing my duty. Yun isn’t going to war, so it’s not as necessary for him.”

“Good idea. You’re a real patriot.” He shifted off the wall and offered her his hand, “you can come home with me. You’re my fiancée, so I look after you now.”

She took his hand and they walked down the dark street that way.

“To be honest, this might help me too,” he said quietly, the streets were dark and full of criminals this time of night. The war had made people hard and desperate.

“How so?”

“I don’t think my father liked the idea that I was…such a sissy. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, “marrying a girl at such a young age…”

“And such a pretty girl…”

“Will help your position with him. I hope so Jack, I really do.”

They arrived home without any trouble. Jack introduced Ashley to his mother as his now fiancée, and she replied that that was very nice. No one else was home.

They snuggled under the sheets of his single bed, warm at last. Both were wearing a set of his pyjamas.

“How long until you’re deployed?” she asked, looking up at him with pale blue eyes.

Jack shrugged.

They closed their eyes and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind of a shame that people were reading this but no one commented or left a kudos. I can only make the story better if you guys let me know what I was doing wrong.
> 
> However, that being said, I know that it's just the way it is for some writers sometimes.


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